


Only After 11

by shadeblue



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1243408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadeblue/pseuds/shadeblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This had made a lot more sense when Stiles was explaining it to Scott.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only After 11

                It was eleven ’o’clock on a school night, so of course he was standing outside Derek’s loft. Really, there was no other time he could have done this, or might have done this—what was he doing?—but when it made pretty much no sense and there were a thousand other things he needed to do. So here he was, outside Derek’s door because—

                What?

                _Fuck it,_ Stiles thought, and pounded on the door.

                Derek looked somehow sleepy and prepared for an attack when he pulled the door open, and Stiles started to flinch away before he remembered that he didn’t do that anymore. He wasn’t scared of Derek. Seriously. Derek’s face quickly composed itself into the usual mouth-glare, which admittedly had much less affect. It was almost comforting, weirdly.

                “What?” Derek asked flatly.

                Stiles wondered if he’d actually been asleep. Hard to picture. “Uh—I, look, can I come in?”

                Derek’s eyes did a weird skittering thing, all over Stiles and then over his shoulders on either side. It made him feel like he should look around, too, but that felt like flinching. He did a lot of not-flinching when he was around Derek. The werewolf seemed to settle on something, and stepped back very slightly in a surly invitation. Stiles didn’t wait for a bigger opening. He’d rather hold his breath until he won the lottery.

                The loft looked the same as always. Weird furnishings, some unmarked book lying on the couch, basically no personal touches. Stiles always wanted to ask where he kept his clothes, and why didn’t he get a laptop or something, but then he had to remind himself that whatever he and Derek were, it wasn’t friends.

                “What’s wrong?” Derek asked, from the space _right fucking behind him._

                “Dude!” Stiles backed away. “We’ve been over this. You can’t just like…wolf sneak behind people.”

                “I don’t do that.” More mouth glares, the kind that came with a lot of eyebrows.

                “Uh, you pretty definitely do. You sneak and you lurk and you stare and it’s just…” Stiles gestured with one hand.

                “This is why you’re here?” Derek crossed his arms. His face shifted from annoyed mouth glare to wasting-my-time-I’ve-heard-this-before mouth glare.

                “No, no, there’s something—I just—“ Stiles took a deep-type breath and put his hands pointedly at his sides. “You know McDonald’s?”

                Derek raised his eyebrows.

                “Like, the restaurant,” Stiles said, because maybe Derek didn’t, maybe he only ate like beef jerky and deer on top of Chinese takeout or something.

                One eyebrow went down and the other stayed up.

                “Okay, well, you know how the only time you ever really want McDonald’s is late at night when you aren’t really hungry? Like when it really doesn’t make sense?” This was not how he meant to present this. Not that he knew how he’d been planning to…well. Just because he’d used this tactic with Scott didn’t mean he should use it on Derek.

                “You aren’t making any sense,” Derek said in a monotone. Stiles thought maybe his eyes were glazing over.  He thought maybe Derek’s eyes did that a lot, when he talked. At least when they weren’t doing the all-up-in-your-face, really-intent-seeing-only-you thing. It was like sixty-forty, depending on the day.

                “Well, you aren’t hearing me out. Just—” Stiles made a sharp gesture with one hand. “Listen.”

                Derek uncrossed his arms, managing to make this eye roll into a full body motion.  Stiles wanted to think the glaze faded a little bit. It could be the bad lighting.

                “Okay, so, the only time you want to eat McDonald’s is late at night, and it never makes any sense, because McDonald’s is gross.” Stiles barely paused to take a breath. If he did, Derek might stop listening. Or he’d stop talking. “But when you’re eating it, at least for a few minutes, it’s awesome, like the best ever. And when you want it, it’s like the only thing you could want. There’s nothing like it. It’s terrible but it’s the only thing that is, like, McDonald’s.”

                Derek looked glazed over again. “I don’t like McDonald’s.”

                Stiles threw up his hands. He thought he saw Derek flinch a little, attention snapping back to Stiles and ranging toward the intense side of the 60-40 split. “Okay, but that’s my whole freaking point. _No one_ actually likes McDonald’s, but sometimes at eleven at night or whatever, it is literally all you want to eat, and it is the only thing that will like—fill the niche. The hunger. Whatever.”

                “The hunger.” Derek narrowed his eyes.

                There was a moment of silence while Stiles decided which direction to take that comment.  He lets go of about a hundred replies involving ‘the hunger’ and how he isn’t a cannibal, but Derek won’t get that. The last time Derek had cable he probably wasn’t even allowed to watch something like _Always Sunny._ So instead he goes with, “Do you just like, tune in to one out of every five words I say, or what?”

                “No.” It was an automatic reply. Like a voicemail, courtesy Derek Hale’s brain.

                “You do!” Stiles ran one hand through his hair in an attempt not to pace. Pacing made Derek nervous. He always got stiff and a little short when someone around him was in constant motion.

                “Well, listen, okay. I’m trying to tell you something,” Stiles said.

                Derek’s eyebrow went back up, a perfect, silent ‘oh?’

                “Yes, I am.” Stiles glared at him. “You’re like McDonald’s.”

                Both brows came down now, a much rarer expression for some but not for Stiles. He’d seen Derek look confused before. It didn’t usually last this long, though.  Stiles waited. And waited. Derek just kept looking at him, brows together and mouth turned down.

                “So, yeah,” Stiles said, finally.

                “I…” Derek’s mouth pulled together and he looked down. This was kind of a new face. Derek looked like he was trying to put together an alien language in his head.

                Stiles got in his eye roll for this five minute segment of their conversation. “You’re like McDonald’s, dude. For me.”

                There was just confusion in Derek’s face now. No sign of residual mouth-glare. “You don’t like me.”

                “Oh my god, you dumb—” Stiles moved fast when he wanted to. He took one long step, closing the distance between him and Derek. From there he didn’t even have to go up on his toes to press his mouth to Derek’s, hard and fast. Derek’s eyes got huge—completely new expression—and when Stiles stepped back his mouth fell open slightly.

                Stiles smirked and grabbed his arm. “Take me to McDonald’s, dumbass.”


End file.
